Sunday Morning Poetry

Let Evening Come

Let the light of later afternoon

shine through chinks in the barn, moving

up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing

as a the woman takes up her needles

and her yarn.  Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned

in the long grass.  Let stars appear

and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.

Let the wind die down.  Let the shed

go black inside.  Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop 

in the oats, to the air in the lung

let evening come.  

Let it come, as it will, and don't

be afraid.  God does not leave us

comfortless, so let evening come. 

~ Jane Kenyon

from Collected Poems copyright 2005